Sinners
by pinksnowboots
Summary: Lovino and Antonio are the leaders of rival gangs in one of Europe's maximum security prison. When the sadistic warden throws them into solitary confinement together, they are forced to either love thy enemy or kill him. Eventual Spamano, AU, human names.
1. Criminals

So, I really should choose a fandom and/or a story and yknow, stick to it. But that's not how my mind works. I get an idea and it bugs me til I write it, which is why I'm back in Hetalia writing something way different than anything I have before.

This is an AU Spain/South Italy. They are both prisoners and gang leaders within the prison. Human names are used and other characters are mentioned. I'm going to try to flesh out the characters a little more than the anime does, because this fic is a lot darker than the anime is, and I want my characters to be more than stereotypes. So they might be a little OOC, but bear with me. I'll try to keep it reasonable and justified (conquistador!Spain, anyone?). And yes, it will be romance, eventually, but it might take a while to get there. Funny story-I got the idea from an episode of My Name is Earl, but the idea is all that came from the show. This will be a lot more in depth, and much more drama than comedy.

I'll try to keep the AN short and end it soon, but I do want to note that I'm still continuing my policy of returning the favor with reviews. You leave me a good, honest review (more than one sentence, preferably), and I will read one of your stories and give you a good, honest review. I don't want to bribe you, and please don't leave an insincere review just to get one, but I do want to encourage myself to participate and to give feedback to people who take the time to give feedback to me. Share the wealth, kind of.

That's all I really have to say for now. I don't know how this will end, but I've got random snippets written, so I hope there is some interest, because it probably is going to bug me until I keep writing more. I already have another chapter written, but it's not chapter 2 material. More like chapter 5 or something. So let me know if you're interested in seeing more, and help me to keep writing and focusing on a fic. And please enjoy!

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><p>In prison, nothing was more important than power.<p>

Any man who wanted to survive in prison had to be either clever or powerful, and even the ones who managed both sometimes didn't make it. Their flaw was often the same. They cared about something more than they did power and survival. Morality, pride, identity-it was all well and good to a point, but prison was a life or death situation, and unless you valued these things more than your life, then they were a liability.

Race was not an issue in of itself. The clever prisoners didn't care about race, but the powerful ones who were not so clever often did. The ones who lacked power or intelligence almost always did. The born followers always needed something to cling to and establish around, and race was the only thing that some of them had. That was why even in Europe, where the issues of black and white were not as prevalent, racial tensions arose and ethnicities segregated themselves into gangs.

Even these were not really about race. It all went back to power. Power and survival-the creed of the prisoner. There was safety in numbers, and if you bound your numbers through a factor that was impossible to negotiate, you could create a much more solid group. Ideologies are transient, but heritage never shifts.

The clever ones who were also powerful exploited this. They used race to unite their people, gaining followers instead of minions, who did not love them and did fear them, but also held them in awe and offered them some measure of respect. For in prison, there were two ways to power-strength and charisma-and if a leader did not have both, he would not be a leader for long.

So the situation was at one of the highest security prisons in Europe. Located on an island somewhere in the Mediterranean and run by a Russian who was feared even by criminals, the rules of survival of the fittest held even more strongly here, and everyone knew that. The gang leaders, the gang members-even the fearsome warden knew of the tensions, even exploited them for no reason other than his own sick pleasure which he masked as efficiency and security. He allowed the gangs and their leaders to define the power structure within the prison, even dominate it. For in the end, it was still a prison, and though the leaders may be the kings within the domain, he would always be able to play their god.

Almost all of the gangs were based on ethnicity, and the groupings of Italians and Spaniards were the largest and most powerful. Far from the stereotype of the absent minded chatty Italian or the tan and athletic Spaniard, these were hardened criminals-murderers, rapists, thieves. The dregs of society were dumped into this pit and left to tear each other to pieces as long as they did it out of the public eye.

The leaders were a different story. While the average prisoner was more of a typical thug, the leaders of the two gangs were much more sophisticated. Attractive young men who couldn't be out of their thirties, they looked like they could have easily passed for upper class citizens in a different setting. They radiated an aura of mystique and power, and people gravitated towards them for protection and influence.

Naturally, they hated each other.

The leader of the Italians was Lovino Vargas, one of the heirs to the Italian Mafia. He and his brother Feliciano were infamous for their successes as up and coming crime lords. The twins had been trained from birth in the Mafia lifestyle, and all of Europe feared for when they would inherit the Mafia empire. That was what prompted multiple assassination attempts on one or both of them. Most were blocked before they began by senior members of the family and their wide network, but one assassin-a Spaniard-got close enough to Lovino and Feliciano to be a threat. Lovino killed him, with brutal efficiency, and had immediately been arrested by an undercover policemen. Whoever had engineered the attempt had stationed him as a backup plan, so that even if the brothers weren't killed, at least one of them could be arrested to split their power. Although both brothers came out alive, Lovino had been put in prison with a life sentence, where he organized all the Italians into his own personal mafia within the prison walls. Hie was known for his quick temper and his intense hatred for Spaniards, and while these may have been weaknesses in other would be leaders, Lovino Vargas had been trained to hone hatred and anger into lethal calculation.

Antonio Carriedo was the leader of the Spaniards. Nobody knew exactly why he was in for life, and nobody dared to ask. He appeared quite friendly and open,and his underlings genuinely liked him, but there was always an undertone of fear. People whispered of his dark side, which was said to be rare, but brutal. He did not like to lead his gang into outright conflicts with the Italians, preferring to mess with Lovino mentally, lobbing words which he knew would incite the Italian to anger and sometimes violence. When the gangs did fight, he typically stood away from the action, smiling in a almost disturbingly detached manner. When anyone had the gall to attack him, he dispatched them with brutal accuracy, and soon, no one was brave or stupid enough to challenge him but Lovino. When they fought, it appeared evenly matched. No one else could even stand against Antonio, but Lovino made a valiant effort. However, onlookers always got the feeling that the Spaniard was toying with the younger man, and the spars always ended with Lovino knocked on his back, with Antonio whispering ostensibly innocuous comments designed to make the man's blood boil. Then, having riled him up and beat him down, Antonio would simply get up, call his gang off, and walk away until another fight broke out the next day.

Although Ivan Braginsky, the warden, saw no problem with these constant fights, and even welcomed them as a source of entertainment, the administration of the prison did. After much subtle coercion, for most people were as afraid of Ivan as they were of the prisoners himself, they convinced him to address the problem. Ivan had smiled a disarmingly childlike smile, before announcing that his solution would be to throw the gang leaders into the same maximum security cell for a month, in a voice that left no room for argument. Doubting the wisdom of their decision, the administrators had fled the room and resolved to let Ivan do as he please, as they all valued their own lives over that of any of the prisoners'.


	2. Threat

Hey guys. Thanks so much for the wonderful response to the first chapter! I forgot how active the Hetalia fandom is, and I really appreciate it, especially the suggestions and concrit.

A couple notes: This is dark. A lot darker than I originally intended, but it just kinda spiraled out of control. About the characterization-I understand that they may seem OOC, but since this is an AU, consider the situation. Also, my basis for Spain is conquistador!Spain. Historically, we know he has a dark side. Lovino is kind of weak in this one, but I promise he can be tough as well. Also, if it seems confusing or OOC, I want to note that I have a kind of extensive back story which will be revealed gradually, so just stay tuned. Also, yes this is romance. No, it's not going to be like, they fall in love and everything is rainbows and daisies. That's not how jail works. It will be fairly dark, even in regards to the romance, which still may be a long time coming. I've never tried anything like this before, so bear with me.

Warning: One more thing-this chapter does mention rape. It is a sad reality of prison, and has much more to do with power than with sex. This story will mention rape, and threats of rape, but I will not write rape scenes, nor will I make Antonio rape Lovino. Yeah, that's kind of a spoiler, but it's not that important in the long run.

As suggested, this is a lot more detailed, with more dialogue and really only one scene. It's kind of short, but I plan to update soon. Please keep letting me know what you think and giving me your comments/questions/suggestions. I really do appreciate them! 

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><p>The guards at the prison were not known for their kindness, and it showed in the way they unceremoniously tossed Romano into the solitary room and slammed the door. Romano blamed the fact that they were all Russian.<p>

He surveyed the room. It looked the same as always-empty, without even a cot, with a small toilet and shower in the corner. He had been in here before-usually for leading fights with the Spaniards, but damn bastards were just asking for it. That was the reason they gave him when he asked what he did to deserve a month, a much longer punishment than normal. The answer was the usual "disturbing the peace, fighting Spanish bastards, etc" which he typically tuned out, but this time the guards had flashed particularly creepy smirks at him. But so far everything looked completely norma-

Romano's line of thinking was abruptly cut off as he was slammed rather harshly against the wall. When his head stopped ringing, he found himself staring into the face of none other than Antonio Carriedo. While doing a quick survey of his condition, he realized that he could feel the cool metal sting of a razor blade pressing into his neck, one degree from drawing blood. Although he couldn't quite figure out how, his arms were very securely pinned.

The smart thing to do would be to keep quiet, or at least calm. Romano was not known for doing the smart thing.

"What the fuck, bastard? Why the fucking hell are you here? And what the fuck are you tying to pull? How the hell did you get a blade in here?"

Antonio glared at him, pushing the blade infinitesimally harder into Romano's skin. His face was only inches away, and the cold rage on the man's face was terrifying.

"Shut up. I don't think you're in any position to be asking questions here."

Romano opened his mouth to retaliate, then remembered the pressure of the razor on his neck and the steel in Antonio's voice. He quickly closed it and tried to show his hatred more than his fear.

"Decided to behave? Smart choice, Romano Lovino Vargas," Antonio drew out the name in a mocking drawl.

"Wait, how do you know my middle name?"

"I thought I told you not to talk."

Romano was shoved harder against the wall of the cell. He stifled an exclamation of pain and indignation and once again remained silent.

"I know everything about you, Vargas. I know how you used to be the heir to the Italian mafia empire until you ended up in jail. I know what you did to land here, and when you were arrested. I know when you were born and quite possibly, how you will die. And I know that it is your fault that I ended up in here." His eyes flashed. "Any questions?"

Romano glared.

"I just want you to know that outside these walls, you may be the Italians' leader and the mafia's golden boy, but in here, you are nothing. I will remind you, by force if necessary, that I have you completely at my mercy. I'm stuck in here for life because of you and your family, and with that kind of time, everything and everyone in this place will be mine. And that, Lovino, includes you."

Antonio's glare morphed into a predatory kind of smirk.

"I have one month here, and in that month, I will decide how best to use you to increase my leverage. Because you are important, I will admit. The Italians worship you, and some of my Spaniards fear you. Well, that will change."

Romano was now frozen, and loathe as he was to admit it, he probably could not have moved if he chose to.

"I could kill you, easily."

Antonio rotated the blade by a few degrees, and Romano could feel a drop of blood start to well up, just shy of his jugular.

"I could rape you. Mark you as my property before all of your men and mine."

Antonio's knee, which had been in his stomach, suddenly put a painful amount of pressure on his groin.

"But that, however satisfying, would be a waste. You are clever, Vargas, and if you cooperate and let me maneuver you the right way, it will be much better for me and for you. If you refuse, I can kill you before you realize what is happening."

Suddenly all the pressure was released. Romano collapsed, shaking, to the floor as Antonio walked away.

"You have one month to decide."


	3. Revenge

My goal this time is to keep my AN short, for once. Let me first say that the response to this story had been overwhelmingly awesome and I really appreciate all the follows/favorites/reviews. They've actually helped me a lot by giving me suggestions and speculations about the story, some of which I've been mentally incorporating, so that's awesome! Keep them coming, because they're wonderful!

This chapter is once again, almost devoid of dialogue. I did intend to write dialogue in it, but then I got to the part where the dialogue started and I started to fall asleep (not because it was boring, but because it's almost one AM and that's when I crash). Next chapter will be very dialogue heavy, I promise, whereas this one is more description and Romano (and Feliciano) backstory.

One or two notes-if some of the stuff I write is not scientifically possible, I apologize. I've only done rudimentary research to try to make it believable, and beyond that I ask you to suspend your disbelief for the sake of the story. Thanks! And the last thing I have to say is that I call Romano by his middle name (Lovino) sometimes. In my headcanon, he goes by both, so they might slip out interchangeably and I hope that doesn't bother you!

So that's it. Relatively short AN, as my AN's go. Please enjoy, and I hope to write more soon! 

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><p>Although Romano actually regained control of himself within a few minutes, he kept shuddering for longer than that, gradually decreasing the intensity and frequency of his convulsions. If this bastard thought he was weak, then let him. Romano had lost one round because he had let his guard down (because of the logical assumption that going into solitary meant he'd be alone, but that wasn't the point). No matter the situation, a Vargas should be on his guard. Damn, had prison actually made him go soft?<p>

But that was over. Romano was sure that Antonio could not put him through anything that his own family hadn't already thought of. The Italian Mafia was infamous throughout the world for good reason. It was a cutthroat business, literally, and there were always threats from inside and out. By the time he was 10, Lovino had already survive three assassination attempts, one of which he had thwarted himself. He was not someone to be toyed with, and he let himself shake-with rage rather than fear-to keep his performance convincing.

He had let himself down, but one thing he knew was how to react to a situation. It was hard to react appropriately when a razor was at your neck, but now that said razor was stashed somewhere on the person of the Spaniard who was pointedly ignoring him as if he were trying to show that he really didn't consider the Italian to be a threat.

_Wrong move, bastard._

Really, how had he let himself be threatened by this man? The idiot had his back turned to his enemy, a mistake no mafia toddler would ever make. Even if his enemy appeared to be in the throes of a nervous breakdown. But luckily for Antonio, Romano wasn't going to make his move. Not yet. Antonio seemed content to have made his point, and that gave Romano plenty of time to think and plan. If all west well, Antonio would believe that he was just scared without his gang to back him up. Let him. Romano could wait, and Antonio had to go to sleep eventually.

They stayed like that for hours, Romano eventually stilling and feigning fear as he lay still in the corner of the cell. Antonio was not so confined. He paced, sat, stood, moved however he please. Romano mentally noted the power play. When Antonio stood over him physically, he was trying to establish power, maybe unconsciously. Let him. Romano could wait.

Eventually his patience paid off, Antonio retreated to the opposite corner and sat propped up against the wall. At least he wasn't stupid enough to expose his back while sleeping. After a few moments, his eyes fluttered shut.

Romano observed from the corner of his eyes. He was an expert at watching people sleep. Knowledge about sleep-how to observe it, how to feign it, how to make it permanent-had been one of the first lessons that his grandfather had taught the twins. They were trained to sleep lightly and be able to spring into action at the slightest threat. This lesson was tested by their grandfather coming into their room on random nights with some kind of weapon-a knife,, a lead pipe, maybe a fork if he was feeling punchy. The boys were expected to spring up and respond appropriately and quickly. Whichever brother did not "survive" the simulated assassination was given their punishment with the weapon that could have killed them. Both brothers had multiple three-pronged scars on their back from these "lessons," but Lovino had less.

He and Feli had constantly been competing, because in the end they never knew if the mafia would let two men inherit the empire. It had been whispered that the final for the Vargas heir would be to kill his greatest rival-his brother. Romano secretly knew that if the time came, he couldn't kill Feli. It was his fatal flaw, and what had gotten him sent to jail. He honestly loved his brother more than his empire, and had the brothers been pitted against each other, he would have had to flee or die. His greatest insecurity was the fact that sometimes he believed that if it came down to it, Feliciano could and would kill him. His brother had always been their grandfather's favorite, and despite the cheerful demeanor that had him marked as the underdog of the two brothers, was terrifyingly lethal and ruthless when the situation called for it. Romano could never beat him in contests of weapon use or killing resolve, so he excelled at every other art. Diplomacy, politics, espionage, deception-those were his specialties. The only time he could truly be ruthless was when he was protecting his brother, a cruel irony of his life.

Perhaps it was better that he was in this jail. This way he would never have to look Feliciano in the eyes and see the cold resolve he gained before a kill aimed at him.

Regardless, his talent for sleep was going to come in handy now. He could not only sleep lightly and wake quickly, he could easily tell through observation how deeply a person was sleeping. It was a combination of minute observations as applied to the sleep cycle. He could not only spot someone faking sleep instantly, but also tell you exactly what stage of the sleep cycle that a person was in. And currently, Antonio was in stage 3, the deepest type of sleep. Romano couldn't personally avoid the issues of deep sleep, but had learned to minimize the time he spent in it and the strength of his sleep. Antonio obviously had no such training. Probably always had someone else to watch his back while he slept. Well, not here.

Romano moved slowly, gauging how sensitive Antonio was to noise and movement. Luckily for him, the Spaniard did not respond to either, and did not react at all, even when Romano was only inches away.

The Italian took a deep breath, then quickly struck Antonio's lower jaw with the heel of his hand, knocking him out. His grandfather had also taught them how to use pressure points to immobilize or knock out an enemy while unarmed. The stomach five point, which happened to be on the bottom of the jaw, was a quick way to render someone unconscious for a few minutes. Easy and effective.

Romano allowed himself a small satisfied smirk before continuing with his plan. He swung a leg over and straddled the man. Yes, it would be considered awkward in most situations, but really, this was prison and Romano really didn't give a damn. He certainly didn't get off on straddling obnoxious and unconscious Spanish criminals, so it wasn't an issue, unless Antonio had a thing for Italian mafia heirs. Except he was currently unconscious, so it still didn't matter.

After making sure he had Antonio's legs pinned, Romano started to search the man for the razor blade he had been threatened with. Obviously it wouldn't be in a place the guards usually checked, and there was no way he was honestly dumb enough to leave it out as he slept. He quickly considered the possibilities, but ruled most out for either impracticality or the fact that no man would ever hide something sharp near his crotch. The upshot of this line of reasoning was that he was now searching Antonio's mouth. Yes, it was gross, but prison and mafia training really make a man willing to do almost anything. After a moment of searching, he found it cleverly concealed underneath the man's tongue. How the hell he hadn't cut himself was a mystery, albeit an irrelevant one.

The whole process had taken less than two minutes, and by Romano's calculations he had about three minute til the man woke up. And if he recalled correctly, when you were knocked out with this pressure point, you were really out, which he and Feliciano had learned when they woke up with an elegant V carved into their lower back. It hurt like a bitch, but was a mark of pride for members of the Vargas empire. The spot on the lower back was exclusive to actual family members, while associates displayed the V elsewhere on their bodies. In a quick burst of inspiration, Romano carved a small V on Antonio's collarbone. It wasn't as fancy or as large as the family usually displayed, but Antonio wasn't really an associate anyway. This was just to show the smug bastard that it was wrong to underestimate him, and that really, if he wanted, Antonio was the one who could be dead.

Power. It was all about power, and Antonio was marked with Romano's brand, an action which screamed ownership and implied a relationship in which Romano was the _master_. And this would leave a scar. Romano rubbed some of the dirt from the floor into it to make sure of that. It would irritate the wound and make it more susceptible to scarring. Perfect.

Perfect timing as well. As soon as he finished his work, Antonio's eyes fluttered open, and as he registered the Italian sitting on top of him and the pain on his clavicle, his eyes flashed a quick succession of confusion, anger, and pain.

Romano's eyes only showed mirth as he loomed over the Spaniard, reveling in his victory.

"Good morning bastard." He smirked condescendingly.


	4. Bargain

Guys! Stuff is happening and there's real dialogue! Be impressed. Just kidding. But this is mostly dialogue, and I really hope that it's coherent. I've been mentally writing this all day, and I hope it transferred logically to the actual chapter. If something doesn't make sense, please let me know and I'll try to clarify.

Thanks for all the continued reviews/follows/favorites! They've really been pushing me to get a move on and write when I have it in my head, so that is awesome!

Only warnings are for cursing, which is going to be a given in this story. And a little blood, I suppose, but nothing major. Anyway, enjoy! 

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><p>To his credit, Antonio recovered quickly to the situation. Impressive, considering that the situation was an Italian practically straddling him with a razor to his throat. Yet all he revealed was a moment of surprise, a flash of anger, and then he reverted back to a neutral expression.<p>

Romano couldn't help but show a little bit of grudging admiration.

"Nice recovery. About five minutes too late though."

Antonio cocked one eyebrow. "I've been out for that long? Impressive."

Romano snarled at his calm countenance. "Don't condescend to me, bastard. You got the drop on me last time, which is completely my fault, but remember who has the knife at whose throat."

Antonio smirked. "Going to kill me, Lovino?" He drew out the name like a taunt. "Didn't think you had it in you. Well, go on."

"You're in no position to act cocky, so please shut the fuck up."

Antonio shifted slightly, raising his head by the tiniest amount, just enough so that the razor nicked the skin. Slowly he shifted, creating a thin line of blood across his neck, daring Romano to put in that last bit of pressure. When he spoke, it was slow, measured.

"You're not going to kill me, Lovino."

"No, I'm not. But I could. I've killed Spaniards before and I sure as hell can do it again." At the mention of Spaniards, Antonio's eyes flashed the same kind of rage that Romano had seen earlier when he had been pinned against the wall. Deciding that it meant he had actually gotten through to him, he pressed on. "And as long as you sleep like a rock, I can kill you at my leisure. Like I believe you said to me. If I want you dead, you will be dead. I'm mafia. Don't underestimate me."

Antonio shook his head lightly, wincing at the pain in his neck. "Never said I did. I'm actually quite impressed."

"Well, don't be. I'm not a trained lapdog who just did a new trick. I'm the man who has a razor at your throat. So now I'm going to talk and you're going to listen."

Antonio acquiesced, remaining quiet, but kept a somewhat amused expression.

Romano continued. "I think we need to establish a few things. You said yesterday that you could kill me at any moment. Obviously, that is not true, and I am still very much alive. There could be two reasons for that. One, you want me dead but actually don't have the capability to kill me."

Antonio chuckled. Romano glared and continued to talk.

"And I doubt that, because I know you. The second is that you won't kill me because you need me. You need me for your plans, whatever they are. And I think you want to rule this prison as much as anyone can. To become a leader, not just of your gang, but of everyone. But to do that, you need me-either as an ally or an enemy. If I am your ally, I can help you. It's obvious by the way you sleep that you're not used to working alone. You need someone to watch out for you, much as you'll never admit you. As an enemy, I could provide a countering force. Give you someone to use as an example,to dominate and showcase your power. At least that would work on the outside. But in this room, if I am your enemy, we will kill each other.

That's the other thing. You don't like killing. You'd rather use people that eliminate them. Yesterday you were in a rage about something, but today the fire is gone. You could kill me if worst came to worst, but you'll do anything to avoid it. I was safe, but now that I know your game, I'm in danger again. You could try to eliminate me at any moment, and you might very well succeed. But I will have you as soon as you go to sleep.

I'm used to working alone. I can guard myself, asleep or awake. Do you think the mafia relies on teamwork and all that stuff? No. You survive, and if you survive on your own, then you're in the family. You may be stronger than me, and just as clever, but I know how to survive without anyone else. And I don't think that you do.

So here's the offer. I become your best ally and your worst enemy. We'll use the time to strategize, and once we get out, I'll play whatever part I need to. We will take over this place, and once we are the only two at the top, then we can share power, or see who falls.

Or I could slit your throat now. Once your people see your corpse with the Vargas crest carved on it, they won't dare oppose me. And if they do, they'll be easy pickings without their leader. And then there would be no one to share with at the top.

But that would be boring. You and I are bound for life in here, and we're both much to clever to rot with these thugs. So let's make this interesting and play prison politics. I intend to have this prison in the palm of my hand by the time I die, and I think you have the same idea. I can do it with or without you, but without you, it will be maddeningly simple.

So, what do you say? An agreement-I help you and you don't try to kill me. I won't murder you in your sleep and we'll rule together, at least for a while."

"You're crazy." Antonio looked somewhat dumbfounded.

"So? What did you expect in here? Someone well adjusted?" Romano gave him his most scorching sneer.

Antonio remained silent for a moment, calculating. Suddenly, he threw Romano off him and went in for an attack. For a moment it appeared that Antonio had him overpowered, but he soon recoiled at the razor slicing at his arms.

Romano grinned. "Remember who's the one with the knife in this partnership."

Antonio laughed, strangely pleased for someone bleeding from the arms and neck. "Just crazy enough. Crazy like me. You've passed all my tests, and some that I didn't set. Lovino. I look forward to dealing with you."

"Hey, Spaniard. Who gave you permission to call me that?"

"Well, we'll be spending a lot of time together. I think we can be on a middle name basis, don't you?"

Romano rolled his eyes, a surprisingly childish action for someone who was so lethal. "Whatever. Remember, this doesn't mean that I don't still hate you. And once we've played this out, I make no promises."

Antonio laughed again. He supposed that they really were both crazy. "I know, Lovino. I know. Now let's sleep for real please, without the death threats and all that?"

The playful way that he said it belied the fact that they were indeed in a prison with potential intent to murder each other some time in the future. It was so absurd that Romano actually cracked a smile.

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><p>So I feel like a short note is necessary for clarification. No, they're not friends. They still hate each other. But they're both twisted bastards who like power, and are resigned to a life in prison, so why the fuck not make it interesting. The liking each other comes later. Now it's kind of a grudging cooperation with some wry amusement at the absurdity of it all. And if Spain can't seem to stay in one character, it's because of backstory. You'll find out why later, I promise.<p>

Reviews are always welcome and appreciated! 


	5. Dreams

Going to keep the AN short because I'm about to fall asleep. This isn't my best writing-I'm going to be gone most of this week and I wanted to at least get one more chapter in because I've been thinking about it for a while. Unfortunately while I was writing it, I literally started to fall asleep and dream about other animes, which makes it very very hard to write. Anyway, this is the prelude to a more substantial chapter coming at some point, I promise.

And please, please let me know if I made any really stupid mistakes because I was tired, like replacing Antonio or Lovino with L and Light, something I caught myself almost doing. Man, I need to sleep.

Enjoy!

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><p>Romano knew that he was dreaming because he had six fingers on each hand. It was a strange thing to notice, but just one of the many bits of wisdom that their grandfather had passed down. Apparently, you rarely have five fingers in dreams, so if you make a habit of counting your fingers while awake, you'll do it when you dream, and if you have more or less than five you can probably deduce that it is, in fact, a dream. This was the first step to lucid dreaming, or controlling your own dreams.<p>

Romano never really bought into the lucid dreaming stuff. It's not like controlling his dreams could really help with anything but nightmares, and honestly, when your life is the Mafia and prison, nightmares can only be so much worse than reality. On the other hand, good dreams can create such vibrant and individual fantasies that Romano was sure that he could not do it consciously. So he chose to bear with the nightmares in order to keep his dreams-one of his only escapes-free.

However, he did use the finger trick to figure out if something bad was, in fact, a dream so at least he could separate the terrors he faced at night and those he faced in the day.

Another tip off that this was actually just a dream was that he was not in prison. In fact, he was walking along a dark side street with Feliciano, a scene that looked shockingly familiar because it was the scene that had led to his arrest. The boys' grandfather was intensively grooming his heirs to smoothly take over the business and they had begun to go on more and more hands on "diplomatic" missions and negotiations and the like. They were walking home from a meeting with a business partner who was in good standing. That always made things easier, although of course both parties carried loaded guns just in case, which meant that both men were armed as they headed back to the family house.

Theoretically, Romano and his brother could have used some sort of transportation-a family car or eve public transit. However, walking home from meetings alone with a brother and a gun at 3 in the morning was just another piece of training. If they couldn't even protect themselves for a few blocks, then how could they lead such a dangerous organization? It was a test, and one that Romano had almost passed with flying colors.

Really, the assassination attempt that night was nothing fancy, and although Romano would never admit it, his reactions were simply instinct born from nights of midnight attacks from family members. He was not extraordinary, but simply a dog of the mafia, whose instincts had been honed until they were sharp as a knife.

There was no heroic moment, no grand standoff. Romano simply sensed something wrong as they turned a corner. Maybe it was a footstep or the glint of a gun, but no one really knew. The story that spread was that Romano had pulled his gun at the same time as the other man, who had by then realized that he had been discovered. But before the man could shoot Feliciano, Romano had shot him cleanly through the forehead and continued to walk home.

Unlike most rumors, this one was essentially true. However, it left out the immediate aftermath of the killing. Shaken by the attempt on his brother's and his own life and angry yet proud of the fact that he had been the one to so handily dispatched a trained assassin, Romano lost all logical train of though for a moment. He had walked over to the body and dipped his finger into the blood streaming from its head and painted a sloppy V onto the dead man's cheek, one last identification as a Vargas before he got caught, as he was fairly sure he would.

He had been right.

...

Antonio knew that he was dreaming because Philippe was there. And Philippe was dead.

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><p>Oooh, intrigue. Except not really. Reviews are like caffeine for the soul, please help mine stay awake.<p> 


	6. Vices

First off let me apologize for the lack of updates recently. I've been having difficulties figuring out where to go from here. I know the basics, but not specifically how to proceed. This chapter is a bit of insight into Romano's past-something which is very important and personal, which he won't be telling Antonio just yet. But as the readers, I am happy to share it with you. I hope this will tide you over until I work out the next chapter with actual interaction between the two.

Please review-reviews always help encourage me to start working out the next chapter!

Enjoy!

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><p>Vices. Every man has them. Something which is unhealthy and addictive, something which provides a release from tension. They can be physical or mental, and most men have at least one of each. Vices are how we cope, and if you can control a man's access to his vice, you can control him. That is what we were taught, and it has proven to be the most valuable lesson I ever learned. The most important part of strategy is learning how to identify and manipulate a man's vices. The other most important part to know your own, and guard the source so nobody can use it against you.<p>

That was part of our training. Most men come upon vices by chance turned habit, and collect numbers of them. We were allowed one. We sampled every possible source. If you can think of a drug, I've probably taken it once. Our grandfather made us, me and Feliciano both. It started once we were sixteen, and when we turned eighteen he made us choose. Over those two years we sampled everything-drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, sex, violence. On my seventeenth birthday he presented me with a female prostitute. The next day, I was given a male. Feliciano had the same. We spoke about it afterwards, and I asked him which he preferred. He said male, and I agreed. One year later, we were called into our grandfather's office and told that we may continue in one vice, one habit, but only on the terms of the family. It could not interfere with our work, endanger our family, or permanently mark the body. Feliciano chose alcohol. I chose sex.

Every week we were allowed one night to indulge. Feliciano would go out drinking with associates who were not held to the same one-vice standard, as they were not blood relatives. This was different than the drinking that we had been forced to learn because it was simply for himself. We can both hold incredible amounts of alcohol and fake drunkenness impeccably, in case we ever needed it as a cover. We can smoke any type of cigarette, cigar, or pipe without discomfort and we have developed immunity to most poisons for which it is possible. But when Feli went out, he drank for pleasure, not business, and drank enough to get a slight buzz. I went with him to whatever bar or club he was frequenting that night, but I never touched a drop of alcohol. Instead I would scope out the room for a target, who I would bring back to one of our safe houses and fuck. There were rules for this too. My conquests had to be one time things-no repeat customers. I gave every one of them a different false identity and false contact information so they couldn't find me, sometimes picked travelers because they're easier to shake off. When I took them back, I'd make sure they were drunk enough to be confused, then lead them to the house in a roundabout way so they'd never be able to find it again. I had a different man every week depending on my mood, and honed my skills of seduction so that I never had to rely on boy whores. As for identifying which men would be receptive, our training in profiling was quite effective.

Oh, but I forgot one rule, the most important. No emotional attachment. It wasn't hard really, because I'm a cynical bastard, but it needed to be there as a reminder. This was a vice, a physical release, and no matter how sweet a man was when drunk or how good in bed, that was not the point. Really, I preferred it that way. I can lure almost anybody, regardless of gender or sexuality, into bed, but I've never quite learned how to make a person stay. People stay around me because of blood, loyalty, greed, fear. I know how to manipulate those. But I don't know how the fuck people form normal relationships. I used to worry about that, but hell, it doesn't matter now. I'm in jail and everyone here is a twisted bastard like me.


	7. Sinners

And we finally get an update! Sorry for the wait guys, real life can really cut into fic writing time, but I'm excited about this chapter. A lot of people left awesome reviews for the last chapter, and I really appreciate it! And for those of you who wanted more interaction between the two, do not fear. This chapter is almost all interaction instead of introspection (although a little bit slipped in there anyway. I can't help it!)

A few random notes: A couple reviewers have mentioned that my description of mafia life is interesting. Just to be clear, I know NOTHING about how the mafia actually works. All of this is just made up for this story universe.

Also, I'm sorry if you're getting sick of the word razor. I know I am. I feel like I'm playing "Who has the razor now?" every time I write. But it's the only thing they managed to smuggle in, so you're just going to have to put up with my overuse of razors as the only weapon.

Alright, please enjoy this update, and if you enjoy, please review! 

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><p>Antonio woke to a razor at his throat and an Italian on his chest, a situation which was quickly becoming tiresome.<p>

Romano smirked as he watched the Spaniard rouse himself as quickly as he could, mild fogginess combining with instinctual confusion and anger.

"The fuck, Romano?"

Romano chuckled. It really would've been a lot more intimidating if the man's voice wasn't still groggy from sleep.

"Fight me."

"What?" Confusion flickered across Antonio's face as he mumbled his inquiry.

"Fight. Me. It's not that hard to understand." Romano rolled his eyes and repeated himself, enunciating each word clearly.

Antonio still seemed dazed.

"What time is it?"

"Figure it out, bastard. We both know that you have an internal clock going by now."

Antonio glared half-heartedly before scrunching his forehead in thought. The situation was completely ridiculous, the ease of the banter completely incongruous with the reality of the razor at his throat.

"Romano. Why the hell did you wake me up to fight you at 2 in the fucking morning?"

Antonio had finally shaken most of the sleep from his expression, replacing the dazedness with palpable annoyance bordering on outright anger. Romano, on the other hand, appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, which only angered the Spaniard further.

"Really? I have to explain it to you?" Antonio glared. Romano met his gaze and continued, albeit a little less smugly. "We have to stay sharp. By the time we get out of here, everything's going to be shot to hell. I doubt our second in commands can keep control. I predict various injuries, at least two deaths in each of the gangs, and either a revolt or a power vacuum when we return. If we're not in shape, then we're dead. Luckily, we're the two strongest anyway, so if we fight each other we'll stay strong enough to take back our positions. Do you get it now, or should I speak more slowly?"

Antonio's expression looked as if he was holding back a snarl, but the residual fatigue was still evident, tempering the obvious rage.

"Fine. We'll fight." He spit out.

Romano stared at him incredulously for a moment.

"What did you do to get in here? You obviously worked with a group, because you're not used to getting up quickly to be ready for any attacks or surprises. I would have guessed thief, but this prison isn't the place for cat burglars. And you obviously didn't work alone, but then why isn't anyone in here with you?"

Romano seemed to be halfway speaking to himself, but Antonio answered anyway.

"If you win, I'll tell you."

Romano began to smile as Antonio continued.

"But put away the damn razor. Honor among thieves and all that. Besides, if the point is to get stronger, weapons defeat the purpose."

As soon as he said it, the razor disappeared.

"Well, we will need some scars eventually, for appearances and all that, but I suppose that can wait till later." Romano used the same tone of voice one would use when making a shopping list. "Shall we start now?"

Rather than answering Antonio lunged forward, putting Romano on the defensive. Romano's weirdly cheerful attitude was confusing and fighting was straightforward. Attack, defend, counter. No games, nothing he didn't understand.

Romano was enjoying the fighting as well. Although he felt phantom bruising he was sure would become real later as he slammed into the wall, he felt invigorated. Senses heightened, he could feel Antonio, both his body which was twisted up with Romano's as they rolled across the floor, and his movements as he lunged and retreated, dodged and attacked. Fighting was a relief. It was not about politics, but simply how the players chose to act and react. Planning was useless when you didn't know what the other person was going to do. This was not a matter of strategizing, but of pure strength and reflex.

Or at least it should be. That was the fighting that Romano liked, because it was a break from the constant calculations which he faced in order to stay high enough in the power structure. In a complex world, whether it was his Mafia past or his present in prison, pure mindless physicality like sex or violence was a relief.

But here, there was no one day a week allocated to vice. Here, he could not dominate a pretty young tourist sexually one night and go back to his work the next. In prison, politics were constant, and things which on the outside would be purely physical became strategic within these walls. Every act of lust, every fight was part of an agenda, and if it were not, it would undermine whatever cause you were trying to protect, whether it was your own power or simply your own survival.

Romano knew this, and he had come into this fight with a strategy. He allowed himself to revel in a few more moments of mindless grappling before putting his plan into action, pulling out his razor in one quick motion and slashing the part of Antonio which was closest-his upper arm, as it turned out. This unexpected pain, a cut caused by something sharper than fingernails in a fight supposedly without weapons, shocked him for a second. That second was enough for Romano to use his weight as leverage and push Antonio down, and for the second time that day, the Spaniard had an Italian on his chest and a razor to his throat.

Romano met the flashing eyes of the other man boldly, smiling with a vengeful kind of mirth.

"You must not be a murderer, because if you were, you would know that there is no such thing as honor among murderers."

The pressure on the razor increased, adding what was sure to be another small scar to the junction of Antonio's chin and throat. Romano punctuated the action with a hiss of "I win."

Romano could feel Antonio shake with rage, and then felt his anger subside, to be replaced with a cool and dangerous control, far from the defeat that he's hoped to incur.

Suddenly the positions were switched. Romano became the one with a razor to the throat, although his own was still in his hand, which was now bloody from clenching the blade as he fell. One of Antonio's hands was pinning Romano's wrist, rendering the hand that held the razor immobile, while the other was currently tracing light patterns onto the skin of the Italian's collarbone with the tip of his own blade.

Antonio leaned down, leveling his mouth to the ear of the other man.

"And you must not be a thief, because if you were you were know that honor among thieves is a pretty little lie."

Antonio raised his head and increased the pressure on his knife, carving a crude C into Romano's clavicle.

"I suppose we're even now, for that little stunt you pulled while I was sleeping. You did say we needed scars, right?"

Antonio looked positively gleeful, deriving sadistic enjoyment at Romano's pain and outrage. He traced the new wound with his index finger, wiping up the blood and tapped the Italian's nose like one would do to a child, only with the suggestion of the potential for brute force accompanying the bloody finger.

"Oh, and by the way." Antonio smirked. " I win."


End file.
